walking after you
by startswithhope
Summary: Musician AU inspired loosely on this prompt - "Congratulations! One of your dreams has finally come true. Let me give you a big hug and wow, you're warm…"
1. Chapter 1

There's a gaggle of girls surrounding him by the door, Anton towering behind them with such gentle patience you can sometimes forget that he is almost 7 feet tall. He winks over Killian's head and Emma just smiles, shaking her head as she packs up the last of the keychains and phone cases into the worn leather suitcase Killian uses to hold his merch. It was a packed show tonight, the only thing stopping the fans from watching Killian onstage being the flow of drinks from the bar. Alcohol tends to lead to more opening of wallets, so business was good. Making a mental note to tell him he needs to restock his download cards, she gives one last glance at the door to check how much longer she has to wait.

Killian's hand is anchored in his belt, his head cocked down so he can look up at the brunette with the stripper length hair extensions through his thick eyelashes. The bastard knows what the ladies like, she'll give him that. Luckily, she knows it's all for show, part of the act he's mastered to sell albums, or at least get likes on his Facebook page and views on his YouTube videos. The music industry is not for the timid and most definitely, not as glamorous as people think. Emma knows that as soon as Anton ushers this last fan out the door, Killian will be upstairs in her loft above the club with his stupid socked feet on her coffee table (actually an old door balanced on two cinder blocks she found in the dumpster) eating the cold pizza they ordered three nights ago because neither of them can afford to order another one.

By the time he makes it up, it's after 1:30 am and she's already tucked into her side of the couch in her leggings and long t-shirt (not one of his, she refuses to wear a shirt with his stupid face on it) and on the verge of nodding off. The door rattles on its hinges at the force of his slam and she's about to tell him off for it, but stops when she sees the dumbstruck look on his face. He crosses to her in a bit of a daze and she's beginning to get a little bit worried at his inability to find his words. His calloused fingers grab her hand from the armrest of the couch and tug, his obvious intent to get her to stand. Narrowing her eyes, she drops her feet to the floor and lets him lead.

"What is going on with you?"

He doesn't answer, not with words anyway. A swarm of butterflies come to life deep her belly when his arms curve around her waist and his head tucks deep in the curve of her neck in a hug so intimate she doesn't really know what to do. Sure, she's wondered (had naughty dreams and fantasies) if there was something more between them, but up until this moment nothing has crossed over that flirty friendship line that has always been between them. And this is only a hug, but his lips are pressed against her skin and her shirt is bunched between his fingers at the small of her back and fuck it, she's gonna hold on just as tight. His hair is sweaty from the stage lights, but she doesn't care as her fingertips wind into the slightly too long strands at the base of his neck and her other hand clutches at the flannel between his shoulder-blades. Tingles dance up her neck as he releases a heavy breath against her shoulder, his arms tightening around her in response to her hugging him back.

She wants to protest when he lifts his head, but when his arms don't loosen as he pulls back she just holds on and waits to see what this is all about. His smile is so wide she's pretty sure his dimples have created dimples of their own, his eyes so bright and full of excitement. The eyeliner she helped him put on earlier making them look their bluest, even if it is now smudged from his sweat.

"Swan, you are not going to believe it."

"Believe what?"

"That manager I met two weeks ago, the one with that folk band, remember her?"

"Uh, yeah…pixie cut, full of brass and leading those 7 guys around like a pro, I remember. What about her?"

He shifts then and she thinks he is finally letting go, so she shuffles too, but his hands merely find a new home at her hips, leaving her to awkwardly grip his shoulders as he continues his tale.

"She just called to let me know that the opening band on their tour backed out, leaving her high and dry. She asked if I want to take their place!"

It's like a knife to her gut. She's known that this day would come eventually, that he would leave her, but she'd really been hoping for more time. There's a small part of her she'd allowed to hold out hope that maybe he'd be the one to stay.

 _What the hell had she been thinking_?

She loves him (yeah, she loves him, but that doesn't matter anymore) too much to take anything away from this moment so she plasters on her biggest smile and pulls him back in for another hug. It's easier this way, with his eyes off of her she can push the tears back in and give her a lip a moment to stop quivering.

"Congratulations!"

"I knew it wouldn't feel real until I told you, love."

That's more than she can take. Untangling herself from his arms, she gives his biceps a quick squeeze before walking around him to the kitchen.

"I think this calls for a celebratory beer."

Opening the fridge, she sees they only have one left from the six pack they swiped from the club last week and she lets out a sigh of annoyance. It's not that they haven't shared before, but dammit, she really needs to get drunk if she's going to make it through this evening in one piece. Knocking the top off with the corner of the counter, she chugs a good third of the beer before turning back around. When she does, she knows she's done a shitty job of this little act of hers. Killian is still standing where she left him, this time with a look she's seen many times before. Lifting the beer back to her lips, she downs another third in defiance.

"Emma…"

"No, Killian. This night is about you, just let me deal with my shit later."

"Your feelings aren't shit, not to me, not ever."

"For now…"

The second the words are out of her mouth she regrets them, but doesn't know what else to say. Looking across the room, she watches as he rakes his hand through his hair, the silver catching the light from the bulbs he had helped her string across her ceiling. The couch he's standing next to he'd salvaged from a former bandmate's garage sale, the painting on the wall behind it one they'd done together one night with fingerpaints and too much tequila. Her entire life has become interwoven with this man. It's only in this moment of him being ripped away that she realizes just how much she has let him in.

Jumping at the sudden brush of his fingers over hers on the beer, she braces herself for his goodbye, heartfelt and full of promises she's truly not ready to hear. The bobbing of his adam's apple as he finishes off the beer provides a momentary distraction, her fingers itching to run along the cords of his neck and down across his collarbone. Why does he have to be so damn attractive?

"You know that suitcase I use for my merch?"

"Of course I do."

"It's part of a set. I can fit most of my stuff in the small roller bag, but I think the larger one would work for your stuff. I know your boots will take up a lot of room."

It's only when his thumb comes up to brush against the curve of her jaw does she realize her mouth has fallen open in shock.

"Did you really think I would go without you? I'll need a tour manager. Plus, who else knows how hot I need my tea before a gig, or the way to hussle someone into buying both a download card and a CD? And, fuck Emma, the damn songs I sing will fall a little flat if the woman I wrote them for isn't there to hear them."

All of her blood seems to be rushing with force between her ears and she can't think or speak, so she does the next best thing. She kisses him. The button of his lapel is caught beneath her fingernail as she pulls him towards her, sucking his bottom lip between hers as she's longed to do for as long as she can remember. His groan is drowned out by the sound of the bottle in his hand rolling off the counter as he pulls her into his arms to kiss her back. It's a bit out of control at first, both of them tugging and desperate to get closer until his nose is tucked deep in her cheek and her fingertips are digging into the base of his scalp. As they pause to breathe, he begins to slow things down, somehow managing to maneuver her back against the counter with his hips. She happily settles in as his tongue begins a leisurely exploration of her own, one hand cupping her cheek while the other settles along the side of her ribs.

By the time the kiss ends, they each have a hand wrapped around the other's neck, with her other deep in the back pocket of his jeans and his hot against the curve of her spine beneath her shirt. Her head is spinning with dreams becoming reality and feelings obviously reciprocated. With foreheads pressed tight, Killian playfully, affectionately, brushes his nose back and forth over hers until her smile widens to match his own goofy grin.

"So, which songs are about me?"

"All of them, Swan."

/

They barely make enough money for both of them to eat on the tour, but it's the happiest time of their lives. Killian tells her he loves her three weeks in as they are making love in a tent really built for one, the sounds of crickets and the flickering of the fireflies a perfect backdrop for the romantic moment. Emma finally says it back two months later right before he goes onstage, making him so tongue-tied he has to play the first set of chords twice to give himself a moment to breathe.

He writes a song about it that only she gets to hear.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Marking this as "In Progress" as I have a ton of ideas for more in the universe. Stay tuned for more one-shots to come! Oh, and the rating may go up to M at some point...**_


	2. learn to fly

_A/N: So, this little AU ended up really sticking with me and I decided to revisit it here and there with additional one shots. So, here's Emma and Killian's first meeting all those years ago._

* * *

There's a grocery store parking lot to the right and just next door is a florist, woven baskets overflowing with wildflowers catching the wafts of cigarette smoke from the few fans who've arrived early enough to hear the opener. Back in London, music clubs didn't usually fall in the middle of strip malls such as this, but apparently this is _the_ place in the area for real music fans to hear new bands. The beat up guitar case hanging from his shoulder helps part the small crowd and he smiles back at the obviously interested group of teenage girls giving him a once, and a second-over. This is the part of being a musician he's mastered.

"Pardon me, ladies."

Killian Jones can turn on the charm on a dime, and sometimes _for_ a dime for as much as he got paid at his last gig. The youngest of the bunch, only about fifteen he would guess, scrambles to open the door for him and he does his best to wink while bowing his head in thanks. Robin, his best mate, never misses a moment to berate him about his lack of winking abilities. The ladies never seem to mind, though, so he keeps it in his repertoire.

Stepping inside he has to blink a few times to adjust his eyesight to the quite dim surroundings of the entrance to the club. While there are windows all along the front, every inch of light is blocked by the taped up large posters and haphazardly printed flyers for upcoming shows. A bit of his nerves ease immediately at the sense of home he feels wash over him almost immediately. Straight ahead he sees the back of a young woman, her bright blonde hair swinging in a low ponytail against the jet black of her leather jacket as she speaks animatedly to an absolute giant of a man.

"Seriously dude, you've gotta be more forceful. Just because they're girls, doesn't mean they can't be an absolute pain in the ass."

"Fine, fine...but only because I don't want Granny grinding your ass again for getting in another fight."

"Whatever, she loves me."

He could stand here and listen to this absolute spitfire of a woman banter for ages, but alas, he really needs to find the green room so he can tune up before his set.

"Uh...hello...I'm looking…"

The rest of his sentence gets tied up in his tongue as she turns her stool around and he comes face to face with the most stunning creature he's ever beheld. She's breathtaking, really, from her piercing green eyes down to the tiny cleft in her chin.

"Last name?"

Obviously not awestruck by him in the slightest, she looks down and he clears his throat and mumbles "Jones" to her now turned down head. He watches as she moves her chipped purple painted nail along the will call list in front of her and back up again.

"No Jones, did someone else buy your ticket?"

"Oh, no, love, I'm not on the list."

"Not your love, buddy. If you're not on the list, tickets are $25."

She's a tough one, and an obvious challenge, and bloody hell, he's interested in rising to it.

"Let me start over." Before continuing, he lifts his guitar case off his shoulder so she can see it over her beat up podium acting as a check-in spot. "The name's Killian Jones and I'm your second opener tonight."

Her eyes narrow as she looks him up and down, her eyebrow lifting as she obviously notices the oddly similar leather jackets they both happen to be sporting. He's always been fond of leather, and not just because it helps with the persona.

"There's an artist entrance at the back."

"Aye, I tried that first, but it was locked. Nobody answered when I knocked, either."

"Fucking Leroy… Anton?"

"On it, Emma. He's probably in the back room again bitching about something."

This is what he loves about places like this. Everyone just gets one another. Sentences rarely need to be finished. Obvious affection always lingers behind harsh words, as even when annoyed, everyone is still family at the end of the night. It's the only home a lot of people who drift in and out will ever have.

"Sorry, Killian was it?"

"Aye, Killian Jones. And you're, Emma?"

She's up off her stool in a flash, ignoring his attempt at a real introduction and gesturing with exasperation for him to precede her into the small club. He waits as she pulls a fraying rope behind her and hooks it to the metal stanchion, stopping anyone from trying to sneak in while she's away from her post.

"Okay, Killian, here's the grand tour. Ruby works the bar and she'll get you anything you want on the house, within reason. If you start getting stupid, she's gonna cut you off."

"Hey Ruby!"

A head of dark brunette and shocking red pops up from the low beer fridge behind the bar and he can't help but smile at the woman it belongs to. She's gorgeous, all dark eye makeup and ruby lips curved in a smirk as she unabashedly looks him up and down.

"What's your poison, sailor?"

Hoping she doesn't see his slight cringe at the word, he adjusts the shoulder strap of his guitar and gives a slight shake of his head.

"Rum, but not until after. I'd take some hot tea if you have it, love."

Emma interrupts before Ruby can respond, moving past him and grabbing the corner of his jacket between her fingers to pull him along.

"There's already some in the green room. Let's keep moving."

Well, _that_ was interesting.

Ruby's head has already disappeared again when he looks back to the bar, so he refocuses once again on Emma, who has yet to let go of his jacket as she steers him through the more dense crowd at the front of the club. There's a seriously grumpy looking older guy perched on a folding chair at the entrance to the back hallway by the stage talking to the Anton ahead of them.

"Leroy, this is Killian...Killian...Leroy."

Emma doesn't stop long enough for Killian to exchange pleasantries with the man, so he merely nods his hello as they pass.

"Okay, here's the green room. There's only the one for everyone, so… yeah. If you need to tune up, there's a smaller room in the back there near the bathroom. You go on in about 40 minutes, so do whatever you need to do. I've gotta get back up front."

She's so determined to not give an inch that he just can't help himself from trying to throw her just a bit of balance.

"I hope you'll watch my set, Emma."

That does get her to stop her trajectory to the door, but only for a brief moment. Her hands come to rest at her hips as she turns to face him with an expression he can't quite read, distrust being his closest guess. She's guarded and prickly, but he senses it may be an armor more than anything. She's quickly moving from a challenge to something else, a kindred spirit of sorts he hopes to break out of her shell.

"I watch everyone's sets and report back to Granny which openers she should ask back. So, break a leg, Jones."

/

He can't remember the last time he's actually felt nervous before going on stage, but Emma has definitely made him want to impress. As he waves to the crowd he can barely see past the bright spotlights but can't stop himself from looking over their heads to the back of the room where he knows Emma will most likely be. She's there, leaning against the soundboard with her arms crossed in front of her chest. Unable to see her face, he merely takes in her still closed off stance. Getting on her good side is going to be a long haul, he can tell already.

Going right into his first song, he loses himself in the music almost immediately. Through all the ups and downs of his life, music has been his one loyal companion, a love so ingrained he relishes these moments where he gets to share it with an audience. He's a showman for sure, which helps to mask the deeply emotional places of his heart he exposes through his lyrics.

Remembering to banter between songs, he finds a few female faces near the stage to flirt with, not even needing to look back to Emma to know what her reaction must be. Something tells him she's going to need sincerity, not this false bravado, if he's even to gain an inch of her regard.

When his set is over he makes his way to the merch area to meet some of the fans, only after grabbing the outstretched tumbler of rum from Ruby on his way. He takes at least 10 selfies with the more eager of the bunch and recites his twitter handle so many times he ponders just getting the bloody thing tattooed to his forehead. Of course, they all want to know if he's on Snapchat, which he isn't. When he's offstage, he doesn't like to have to put the persona back on unless absolutely necessary.

The skin behind his ear is a bit raw from his nervous scratching, prompted by each time Emma has caught him glancing her way. He simply can't seem to stop wanting to seek her out and just hopes that he's not alone in this budding curiosity. It's been a long time since he's even pondered the idea of opening his heart again to another woman. Emma's not the only one wearing armor here.

As the headliner takes the stage, he excuses himself to the few remaining fans so he can head back to the quiet of the green room. One thing any good opener knows is to not talk to fans during the headliner's set. It's simply bad form. His tumbler is dry at this point and he contemplates swinging past the bar for a refill, but steels himself at the last moment. Alcohol has been his other frequent companion, one that he's made a conscious effort to try to spend less time with.

Mere seconds after settling back into the worn leather sofa along the wall of the green room with his journal, the door opens a crack just wide enough for him to see Emma peering in.

"Everybody decent in here?"

"Aye lass, at the moment, but if you give me a second I can easily rectify this oversight."

She pushes her way into the room at that on a dramatic huff, but he sees the slight tinge to her cheeks her alabaster skin makes it impossible to hide. That one point to him, not that he's keeping score.

"Here, I thought you might need this after all that _promoting_ you just did out there."

He takes the bottle of water she's holding out towards him, but keeps his eyes locked to hers as he unscrews the top. She may have said promoting, but he heard what she meant... _flirting_. Honestly, there's really not much of a difference at the end of the day. All he cares about in this moment is she's just inadvertently shown her hand and admitted that she'd been watching him as much as he'd been watching her.

"Thanks, love."

She doesn't make a move to leave so he leans back once again into the sofa, finishing off the small water bottle in just a few gulps. They both share a chuckle when he tries to lob it into the trash can across the room and misses.

"So, can I give you a few quick pointers before I head back up front?"

Well, this is certainly unexpected.

"I'm all ears, Emma."

He really likes the way her name sounds as it rolls off his tongue. _Emmmaa..._

"Get yourself some merch, even if it's just small stuff like keychains and stickers. Your guitar case or a suitcase will work to hold it all and make sure to keep it stocked. Find a fan to design promotional postcards for you. They'll do it for free, trust me. Make sure your website, Facebook, Twitter, all of that is on there. Oh, and if you have an album for sale, get it on iTunes and make download cards. Wait, gimme your phone."

Awestruck for the second time tonight, he blindly reaches into his front jean pocket for his phone and hands it over to her impatiently wagging fingers.

"I'm putting Ariel's number in your phone. She can help with the download cards and can get you a decent deal on other merch. Careful, she's a bit eccentric and will try to get you to put your name on odd stuff like forks and combs, so stick to the basics."

He has to dive a bit forward to catch his phone she's suddenly tossing back to him on her way back to the door.

"Oh, and you should really think about wearing a bit of eyeliner onstage. It'll make those baby blues really pop."

She's almost gone before he shakes himself from his stupor to stop her.

"Emma, wait! Does this mean you're going to tell Granny to have me back?"

Her lips curve into a beautiful little smile at his question and he swears his heart plummets to the depths of his stomach.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

She's already pulling the door shut behind her before he can even think of an answer.

Feeling a bit like he's just witnessed an entire chapter of his life get written in a matter of minutes, he leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees and try to catch his breath. His phone in his hand still has his contacts open on his screen and he sees something completely unexpected. Emma has added her own number as well.

Not giving himself even a second to think twice, he hits the little message icon and types out a quick text and immediately presses send.

 _"Perhaps I would - KJ"_


	3. times like these

_The rating on this fic has gone up to M with this chapter..._

* * *

"Oh my god, just leave it and I'll do it myself!"

" _Swan…_ "

They've been bickering for the past ten minutes, each of them certain the other is wrong about which pole goes where and how. Their plan of camping out instead of driving to the next dive motel veering further and further from romantic with each passing minute and frustrated word.

"Seriously, I got this. Why don't you get the fire started instead?"

Noting her slightly softened tone, he acquiesces, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze as he passes the long tent pole from his hand into hers. The absolute last thing he has in mind tonight is fighting and he's more than happy to bring this squabble to an end. They'd always been like this, pushing and pulling at one another as strangers, then friends. But now, in this new reality where they kiss and have sex, the push and pull sometimes feels more fragile, leaving him slightly fearful of puncturing the perfect bubble of their newly reshaped relationship. It's bloody frustrating, but he wouldn't give it up for the world.

Leaving Emma to her tent construction, he paces out ten feet before dropping to his knees in the sand to dig out a small pit. After arranging the driftwood he'd gathered earlier into a strong base, he sticks in tufts of dune grass and twigs between the tower of logs. The old zippo in his pocket flicks to life with a practiced swipe of his thumb, the flame bright in the waning twilight as he lights the many clumps of dried grass. It's a few minutes before it takes, but soon the fire is burning strong, warming his already flushed skin. The summer night isn't overly hot thanks to the breeze coming in from the ocean, but he's been standing too close to the fire and he finds himself in need of cooling down. His shirt ends up in the sand next to his jeans, both neatly folded in a way that he knows will rise a chuckle of amusement out of Emma.

Speaking of, he looks over the fire to check on her progress and finds the tent up and finished, their two sleeping bags piled high inside and Emma nowhere in sight. He's about to call out to her when he senses her behind him, the coconut smell of her sunblock reaching him even before her arms wind around his waist and her nose rubs up along the back of his neck.

"Hmmm…" he rumbles, one hand wrapping around her arm as his other sneaks back to her hip so he can drag her ever closer.

"I'm wishing I had caught that fire-lit striptease on camera just now, it would have been quite the thirst trap for your Instagram followers."

Chuckling, he turns in her arms, fisting his hands into the soft fabric of her short summer dress at the back of her waist as he playfully nudges her nose with his.

"So you're okay with me using my _other_ attributes to gain attention now, Swan? I thought you wanted it to be all about the music?"

Her eyes narrow and he has to hold back a laugh, but she's quick to compose herself, her thumb coming up to swipe lightly at the corner of his eye.

"I'm the one who told you to wear eyeliner, remember? This business never has been and never will be just about the music."

She steps back slightly and he goes to stop her, but then her hands are on his chest, fingertips slightly sharp against his skin as she rakes them down and through the hair on his abdomen to anchor in the waistband of his boxer briefs.

"They just get to look. Touching…"

Cutting her off with a step forward, he whispers, "...is only for you, love" against her lips. They're kissing before the last word is complete, lips warm and active as twilight turns to dusk and the light of the fire creates two shadows merging into one.

Her dress ends up somewhere near his neatly folded clothes, her bathing suit top she'd been wearing beneath hanging loosely around her neck as his hands reach around from where he's aligned with her back to grab somewhat possessively at her breasts. Thankfully, she doesn't seem to mind. Her hands are active, too, one holding his head against her neck to urge on his marking of her skin with his lips while the other drags his hips in tighter, the cleft of her ass a welcome cradle for his growing erection.

" _Fuck_ , Emma, you feel so good."

"So do you…"

Need has his hips rocking with purpose against her ass, his grunts of pleasure muffled in the skin of her neck as heat licks down his spine. Releasing her breasts, he slides one hand into her bikini bottoms, wasting no time in gathering her wetness so he can begin to circle his finger over her clit. He has to stop the thrusting of his hips as he's too close to coming, the feel of her pliant and warm in his arms both too much and not enough.

"I need to be inside you, please…"

"Fuck, _yes_ ," she pants, "not in the sand though. I've heard horror stories."

Sliding a finger inside her warmth, he waits until her head falls back in response against his chest to let his words rumble out against her ear.

"You've done such a brilliant job with our tent, love, best we make good use of it."

But instead of moving towards the tent he adds a second finger, curling both until she's crying out and grinding rapidly against his hand. It's only after she's come in shuddering breaths and fingers clenched around his wrist does he urge her forward on shaky legs, laughing as she collapses on her back atop their sleeping bags.

His hands make quick work of his boxer briefs as she lazily drags her bathing suit top over her head, his mouth finding the soft skin of her belly as he drags her navy blue bikini bottoms to her ankles and out the front of the tent. He's tempted to bury his face between her legs, but worries that the taste of her alone with have him spending himself and is too desperate to feel her warmth welcome him home. She must have the same desire as her hands are soon grabbing at his shoulders, urging him up her body until she can reach his neck, which she uses to drag him down on top of her.

Her tongue curls hot around his as she widens her hips and he has to brace himself on his elbows, the slick heat of her coating his cock now trapped between their bodies. Angling his body down and hips up, he slides in slowly, her still waning orgasm leaving her muscles so tight he has to bite his lip at the overwhelming pressure. Buried deep, he focuses everything on her as he looks down at her face, sucking in a few shallow breaths into his tightly constricting chest. Overwhelmed isn't a big enough word to explain how he's feeling. Perfection, awe, passion, fear, certainty, all of those words needing to have a place in whatever he chooses to say before he can move.

"I love you," is what comes out and as soon as he's said it he knows that it's true.

Emma's jaw drops open slightly before the corners of her mouth turn up into a shaky smile. Wrapping her legs around his waist she lifts her lips up to his, mumbling something unintelligible into his mouth as her hips lift in a silent request for him to make love to her. He isn't hesitant to oblige. Finding her hands with his own, he twines their fingers tight over her head and begins to pump his hips, sliding in and out of her in a gentle rhythm that has them both panting for breath against each other's lips. They're so tightly locked together that he's hopeful he's giving her the friction she needs, making him feel confident that he doesn't need to hold back from chasing his release. Slamming into her hips harder, he drops his head beside hers into the nylon of the sleeping bag, the sweat of their bodies mixing as skin slides against skin.

Her back suddenly bows upwards, crushing her breasts into his chest and that's all it takes, the coiling center of his orgasm bursting wide open as he spills hot and deep. His hoarse cry is muffled against her neck as she rides the last wave of his orgasm from below, her ankles tightening around his thighs as she clenches around his still pulsing cock as she comes a second time. It feels so good that he wonders if he will harden again, his hips beginning to move on their own in search of something he isn't confident he has the energy to attempt.

"Steady sailor, I don't think I have a third in me."

Clenching tight to her fingers, he rolls his hips, her gasp of breath cooling the sweat slicked skin at his temple.

"You know how I love a challenge, Swan."

* * *

Her third does come, only much later, after some explicit skinny-dipping had him pushing her into the wet sand, the briny taste of the ocean mixing with her sweetness as she came on his tongue. The lyrics inspired by the vision of her writhing in the moonlight he wrote later by the fire somehow make the sand he can feel itching in crevices he'd rather not think about worth the discomfort. Three weeks into this tour with Emma and he's written almost five songs, all about her and how she makes him feel, from their fights to their kisses, to the knotted mess of her morning hair and the confident swagger she carries as they walk together into each new venue.

It's times like these you learn to live again. It's times like these you learn to love again.


End file.
